Fate
by silverdragon4736
Summary: HPDM Bottom!Draco “Think about it. I fell at the exact moment Potter was walking past. Surely you would not have me question the hands of fate? I fell right on top of him. What else could it be but destiny?”
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

* * *

The man was out cold.

Draco Malfoy sat on his chest, looking down at him. _Well_, he thought, _my head is surprisingly clear considering I had just slipped and fallen from an old tree and had the lucky fortune to land upon such a dastardly auror._

He did remember seeing the man walking up the trail as if he had the right to be there. He remembered pulling his dagger, since his wand had long been destroyed when Voldemort was defeated and the ministry decided to rid of _anyone_ who's ever been assorted with Voldemort, never mind if there was a dark mark on their arm or if they were spies. The ministry wasn't taking any more chances of an uprising and that was bad news for him, being a Malfoy and all.

He remembered thinking that the man looked eerily familiar. He even remembered taking a step onto a lower branch so he could leap on top of him at the exact perfect moment. The problem was, he never remembered the exact perfect moment.

He leaned closer, his dagger clutched in one fist, and scowled at the auror, trying to look mean, arrogant and cunning all at once—trying to look like the Slytherin he is.

He searched the auror's face for signs of a trick. He couldn't take the chance of letting his guard down and finding out that the man was really awake.

He placed the blade of his dagger close to the man's neck.

The man didn't move.

_Was he dead?_ he thought.

He bounced on top of the man a couple of times.

The man's breath came out in a soft woosh.

He watched the man closely—_very_ closely.

The man slowly inhaled in that shallow even way when those asleep or unconscious might.

He pressed the point of his dagger against the man's neck.

If he moved, he would stab him.

He looked around for signs of more aurors knowing that raids have come too often around here. Finding none, he gave a snort of disgust that aurors have become too confident in their raids doing it alone.

He leaned a bit closer, until his nose was almost touching his. The nagging feeling that this man was familiar swept by him. The auror's breath was soft and warm, as if he'd had just eaten an apple. That thought reminded him that he was so very hungry and why he had actually came up with this plot in the first place.

With his free hand, he searched the auror's upper body in case he had something to eat tucked away.

No apple. No bread. No cheese. No nothing. He did, however, find a wand. He tucked it in his robes for safekeeping.

Sighing, he leaned down and gave him a look that was as powerful as Avada Kedavra. He swiped the hair off the man's cheek so he could look at the auror's face and send curses with his steely grey eyes.

He stopped suddenly, seeing the man's face. Now he knew why this auror had been familiar.

It was Harry bloody Potter!

He looked at Potter's forehead where a bump was slowly starting to form right beside his ever so famous lightning bolt shaped scar. He rubbed his own forehead and winced. He'd knocked heads with him. He supposed that fact might delight his father, since he'd often commented on ways for him to put his hard head to good use.

Potter's shoulder was broad and his hair was sticking up in all places just as it had always been. It seemed time never did tame that jet-black hair. His face, however, had changed, not to mention he had grown taller, much taller. The child-like features were gone and were replaced with a square-jaw and strong manly features.

He thought bitterly with a pout of his own face that never quite reached the strong manly features puberty had given Potter and his height that stopped growing all too soon. Instead, he was stuck with prominent cheekbones and small lips and 'delicate' features Zabini have pointed out every bloody time some muggle mistook him for a girl.

Stupid _blind_ idiotic muggles! Robes weren't dresses!

Potter exhaled again. Potter's breath swept across his lips and nose snapping him out of his train of thought.

His belly growled. He knew hunger well, knew that it made people do things that they might not do otherwise. Ever since the ministry has been on the hunt bringing every suspected death eater in Azkaban, he'd been on the run. Moving in the muggle world knowing it would be what the ministry least expects.

He looked at Potter long and hard to see if he was really awake. But his breathing was evenly shallow, so he relaxed.

A twig cracked in the woods near his right.

He froze. His grip tightened on his dagger. Without moving his head, he cast a sly look to the right, then to the left.

He recognized the familiar mutter and rolled his eyes. Not more than a second later it sounded as if someone were swimming through the nearby bushes.

'Swimming or _drowning_ in them.' Draco thought with a snort.

"Goyle!" Draco called out.

"Yeah! It's me. I'm stuck." It sounded as if a team of Hippogriffs were tramping through the woods.

Draco waited.

Gregory Goyle stumbled out of the bushes, twisting this way and that, mumbling and spinning while he tried to free himself and his robes from a thick bush.

Draco didn't know whether to laugh at him or yell at him.

Finally free, Goyle turned and walked to Draco's side. He knelt beside the man, leaned over and peered down at him. After a moment he turned and looked at Draco, fidgeting nervously.

"Er… Draco… that looks a lot like Potter. Scar and all. " he said anxiously, "Is… Is he dead?"

Draco rolled his eyes as he slid his dagger back into his belt. "Yes, Goyle. That _is_ Potter. No, he's not dead. Only knocked senseless. A proper state for him I might say."

Goyle wasn't laughing with him. He looked as if he was about to run back to Blaise and Pansy with fresh tales of Draco's latest mistake, not that there were many of course.

Draco reached out and placed his palms on either side of Goyle's head. He turned it so he could speak into Goyle's left ear since he's right was almost deaf because of an explosion in the war sometime ago. "Lucky for us, Gregory Goyle, that Potter _is_ out cold, since you've just made enough noise for Voldemort to hear us."

Goyle frowned, and slightly winced from Voldemort's name. "But You-Know-Who is dead."

"My point exactly."

Goyle stared at him, confused. He said as realization dawned on him, "Oh. I was very loud, huh? My robe got caught."

"You were suppose to stay hiding in the broom bush until I called for you."

"I _was_ hiding in a bush."

"Not where I told you to hide."

"But I was worried about you."

"Worried about me? Now why would you be worrying about me?"

"He's bigger than you, Draco."

Draco poked a finger in Goyle's chest.

"This oaf!" He turned away and crossed his arms in disgust. "I can't believe you thought I couldn't take him."

"Well, I was worried because you screamed so loud I even heard it in my right ear."

"Are you implying that I scream like a frightened woman? Me? Hah! I would never!" Draco waved a hand in the air as if his throat weren't still raspy and sore, as if he hadn't screamed bloody murder when he fell. "You needn't be worrying yourself about me. The blood of ancient purebloods runs through my veins. I _am_ a Malfoy."

"I thought you broke something."

"If I did, I hope it was Potter's neck." He laughed and laughed. He did think that it was quite amusing.

Goyle, however, was still not laughing.

"Oh come on Goyle! It's just Potter and I'm fine." Draco faced him. "I promise you nothing will go wrong this time."

Goyle looked at him as if he had just promised to become the next minister.

"He's Potter, Goyle. Harry Potter. Boy-who-lived. The one who defeated Voldemort. The ministry's Golden boy. The wizarding's Hero! Look at his scar."

"I can see that he's Potter, Draco. I'm not doubting that. I just believe that you think everything will be all right, but there's a difference between what you think, Draco, and what actually happens." Goyle's expression grew sour.

Draco tried to stand. Something stopped him and he landed back on Potter's chest with a _thud_!

His robe was caught underneath Potter. He reached around and grabbed it, then tugged so fiercely he could feel his face turn red.

A moment later there was a loud rip.

"Damn Potter! When did he get so bloody big!" he murmured through clenched teeth as he wadded up more fabric in his fist and pulled again.

"Do you think he'll wake up soon?" Goyle asked.

Draco finally got the plaid out from beneath Potter. "I don't care if he never wakes up."

He stood and planted his feet on either side of Potter's waist. _A pose of the conqueror over the conquered_, he thought smugly.

He stared down at Potter. Draco was oddly quiet for a couple of minutes for a brilliant plot had just popped into his head. He grinned and resisted the urge to rub his hands together in wicked glee.

"I know that look, Draco! Blaise and Pansy aren't going to be happy about that." Goyle backed away as if he was facing a monster. "You've got another idea haven't you? That look was what Blaise and Pansy warned me about."

"Wait!" Draco ran around and blocked Goyle's huge frame. "This isn't an idea, it's a plot. A very good, very _brilliant _fiendish plot."

"That's what you always say." Goyle said as he tried to side step around him.

Draco grabbed his arm. "Listen."

Goyle gave a resigned sigh and looked at Draco.

"There shall be no little ransom for the Golden Boy."

"What are you thinking?"

"Well, he's _Harry Potter_, isn't he? There's going to be someone who'll miss him." Draco said in anticipation.

"You can't seriously be thinking of asking the ministry for ransom. They'll send us to Azkaban if they even catch a glimpse of us. What would they do if they found out we've kidnapped _the _Harry Potter?" Goyle asked terrified and shocked.

"We're not going to ask the ministry for ransom, Goyle." Draco said amusedly, "We'll ask his friends, the mudblood and weasel. Surely, they know that Potter wouldn't want to be put in the spotlight. And they wouldn't even think of contacting the ministry if they want Potter in good condition. Besides, they're Gryffindors _and_, not to mention, the Golden Trio. They wouldn't ask for help. They'll go blindly into trouble before even considering the ministry or anyone for that matter. I'll not let this opportunity pass."

"I don't know, Draco…" Goyle looked as if the sky were about to fall down. On him.

"It's a plot, Goyle. Not just some idea that popped in my head."

"This doesn't sound like a fine idea... I mean plot." Goyle said hesitantly.

"Goyle. Tell me why you do not see it."

"See what?"

"Fate's plan. Right here before our very eyes."

Goyle looked completely confused, which Draco figured was a good thing.

"Think about it. I fell at the exact moment Potter was walking past. Surely you…" He paused placing a hand over his heat innocently. "you would not have me question the hands of fate? I fell right on top of him. What else could it be but destiny?"

"Clumsiness?"

Draco waved a hand. "You might think that, but remember what Trelawney said. If it is fate's will, then one should and could not fight it. The way I see it, I was supposed to fall on Potter. We are _supposed_ to ransom him. You cannot say there will be trouble when this is fate's plan instead of something I just dreamed up."

Goyle stared at Draco in complete silence, then turned and looked at Potter. He turned toward Draco and stared as if the truth would be written on his face. Draco resisted the urge to laugh and crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. He knew those Divination lessons Goyle kept on insisting they take would come in handy someday.

Fates? Hah!

"Well? You would surely not oppose Fate's plan, would you?"

Goyle shook his head vigoursly.

"I thought not." Draco moved a step closer to Potter.

Goyle frowned at him. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Manage to twist your argument until you make sense?"

"It's a gift from God." Draco answered over one shoulder as he knelt beside Potter and struggled to push him onto his side. He grunted to Goyle, "Come, and help me push him over."

Draco noted sourly that Goyle didn't struggle like he did.

'I just lack the exercise.' He justified silently.

"Hand me the rope, Goyle."

Goyle pulled out a rope from inside his robe and gave it to Draco.

"What are you going to do with that?"

Draco looked at him incredulously, "I'm going to bind him with it. Come, now. Help me."

"How?"

"Grab that broken branch and clobber him if he moves."

"What broken branch?"

"The one that's lying next to him."

"That branch? Me?" Goyle took two steps back.

"Yeah."

"What if I kill him?"

"You won't."

Goyle look unsure as he grabbed the branch.

"You guard him while I try to tie this rope around him." Draco started to roll Potter over. "Remember, Goyle. If he so much as opens an eye, clobber him."

Too bad both the Slytherins were oblivious to the fact that Harry Potter was never out cold in the first place.

* * *

_TBC…_

* * *

Review please… Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.

* * *

CHAPTER TWO

* * *

Harry would like to clobber him.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and the only person who defeated Voldemort, lay surprisingly still as the little ferret tried to bind his hands together. He was, as all wizards and witches would say, the most powerful man in all of the Wizarding World, yet he lay there and willingly played captive, eyes closed, his breathing deceptively even… except for the moment Malfoy had nearly halved him with the rope. Malfoy must have pulled it a few notches too tight.

The Slytherin Prince was stronger than he had expected. Probably because he never expected much from someone who was once turned into a ferret. He recalled the pointed git he had fought with those years in Hogwarts.

'Hair gelled tightly over his head that made it look like a helmet and…' Harry's thought trailed off when he realized it's been years since he'd last seen Malfoy and it dawned on him that he couldn't quite remember what he'd actually look like.

With a mental shrug he thought that Malfoy couldn't be any different from a ferret anyway. Probably still have that blindingly greasy hair stuck to his head, a dwarf-like body stature because he knew that he was bigger than him, especially because it was enough to warrant Goyle the need to be worried, a face half gremlin and half ferret that went with that mouth of his, a crooked pointed nose like those of a rodent, and small sneaky beady little eyes, black to match his humor.

Harry didn't know what possessed him to pretend to be out cold. He blamed it on his curiosity, momentary lapse of judgment and a bit of foolishness.

"There," Malfoy said brightly, as though he had just tied his shoelace instead of binding the hands of the man who held his very precarious future in them. Harry heard Malfoy brush his own hands together with a couple of cocky slaps. He stood next to him and shouted, "Put the branch down, Goyle, and help me turn the oaf."

Harry's jaw tightened. Oh, did he want to teach that little ferret a fine lesson about whom to call an oaf.

A pair of small hands and another pair of broad ones gripped him.

The broader one hesitated for a second before holding him by his left shoulder. Goyle.

The other pair, the small hands, pinched viciously into his left hip. Malfoy, the little ferret git, whose future was looking dim.

With a few grunts and gasps from, as Harry noted gladly, Malfoy, they rolled him over and onto his back, where he rocked slightly on top of his bound hands. He listened for their next move and thought about when he should make his.

"Draco!" a male voice shouted from behind them; then there was a sound of running feet thrashing through the nearby bracken.

The trashing ceased with a loud _thud!_

Twigs, mud and damp leaves splattered the side of Harry's face. He didn't flinch, but he could feel a wet leaf slowly slide down his cheek and stop in his ear.

The newcomer scrambled to his feet, sending more mud this way and that. "They're coming. Draco! Aurors just arrived! They're almost here!"

"I've captured Potter, Blaise." The ferret placed a small foot atop his belly and pressed hard enough to make him grunt.

Harry could feel him look.

He kept his breath even and shallow—something that wasn't easy with that little foot jabbing into his gut.

He could feel them staring at him. He wondered what they would do if he just leapt up. If his hands hadn't been bound, he would've done it, too.

Malfoy took his foot off of his belly. "There is no time to stand here and gawk at him. Where's Pansy?"

"Watching the aurors hidden where you told her to be." Zabini answered.

"Quickly, then! Drag this stupid oaf into the bushes and hide him well."

"The bushes?"

"Of course. You'll have to use the really big bushes over there to hide him properly though."

"What about his feet? They're free." Zabini took a step closer to Harry.

There was a long moment of silence.

"Tie his boots together with those laces," Malfoy said. "Tie them in knots."

Harry mentally swore. Malfoy was a clever little ferret.

"Wait, Draco!" Zabini said. "Are you sure we should keep Potter with us? We might get on his bad side if he suddenly woke up and realize that we've bound and dragged him."

"I don't really give a bloody arse whether we're on Potter's good side or bad. Besides, I've worked it all out, Blaise. Don't worry about it."

"This is one of your _brilliant_ plots again, isn't it? Ever think that when Potter wakes up he could take us all in one go?" Zabini said pointedly. "He did defeat You-Know-Who, Draco."

"Blaise, we don't have time for this!" Malfoy hissed impatiently. "Besides, he could do no harm to us. His hands _are_ bound. I've also got his wand with me. You could hold it if you want to be sure he doesn't get it back."

Harry heard Malfoy rifling through his robes and tossing something.

Harry's wand.

"There! Now that I've entertained your paranoia, could you hide yourselves and stay in that positions?" Malfoy retorted bitingly. "So that we could actually steal some of those aurors' galleons and whatever goods they've got in those carriages _before_ they spot us."

"Fine."

A moment later, with his robe dragging and bunching beneath him they hauled him through the sharp bracken while Harry began to covertly work his wrists free. Harry needed them free so he could wring Malfoy's scrawny neck.

They stopped after dragging him over a sharp rock, and then dropped him into a thicket of bushes.

He lay there listening to their muted voices, to Malfoy shushing others, and the sounds of them shinnying up in the nearby trees.

Then there was nothing but nature's silence, the same deceptive silence he'd blindly walked into earlier.

He knew that Ron would be looking for him when he still didn't return from his stroll in the forest after an hour. Fortunately, the rope was loosening so that he'd never have to face the humiliation of Ron looking for him after being captured by Malfoy and his inept followers.

Soon, Malfoy would care very much about his good side and bad side.

The voices and the creak of carriages came from the road. He turned over using their noise to camouflage any sound his movement might have made. He opened his eyes for the first time.

Through the bushes he could see a couple of silhouettes drunkenly lumbering up the grade. Harry could see that they weren't really aurors, rather just some old guards for hire to deliver artifacts that were probably too illegal, valuable or dangerous to floo, apparate or use a portkey with. 'And apparently also to use flying as a mode of transportation' Harry thought as he noted that the thestrals' clipped wings pulling the stagecoaches.

They tossed a bottle of what looked like firewhisky between them, drinking, laughing and jesting as they walked right into a trap.

As they staggered edged past, Harry looked up at the nearest tree. Sunlight caught a glint of metal—a dagger pulled.

The dagger moved. The branches shifted.

A moment later, a battle cry that sounded like the howl of a banshee shrieked from that tree.

A flash of blond hair and robes flew through the air.

Past the first carriage…

Past the second carriage…

Past anything remotely near his target.

Malfoy landed, granted with grace, right into a mud hole.

Harry bit back a bark of laughter.

Malfoy lay sprawled there for no more than a blink, then scampered up, covered in mud from head to toe.

The little ferret launched himself at the nearest driver. Somehow, he managed to get his dagger poised at the man's throat.

Zabini and Parkinson began to fall from the trees on top of the other guards.

_Fall_, not jump.

Then, there was a loud thud and a curse.

"Goyle?" Malfoy called out.

"Yeah?"

"Everything all right?"

"Yeah." Goyle paused for a long telling moment then said, "I missed."

'So did Malfoy', Harry thought amazed that they had managed to capture these guards at all no matter how inebriated they might be. But they had. The old guards looked stunned as they wobbled in their sits so drunk they looked about to keel over.

A truly awful screechlike, hellish bellow rent the air; it sounded like a dying creature.

Harry winced, shook his head slightly to get his ears to stop ringing, and then turned towards the racket.

Standing beside the first stagecoach was, assuming Malfoy only had one female in his band of thieves, Parkinson the reed of what looked like a bagpipe between her lips and her cheeks puffed and red.

She blew once more on the thing again.

The blare rang clear through his teeth right down to the very bones in Harry's toes. His jaw fell open in surprise and pain.

The mud covered Malfoy flinched, his shoulders hunching almost to his ears, while the guards pounded the heels of their hands against one their own ears.

Parkinson started to blow once more on that bloody thing again. It was such an awful sound Harry almost leapt up and bolted from the bushes to stop her himself.

But Malfoy reached out with his free hand and grabbed it, pulling it away from the girl's mouth before he shouted, "Parkinson!"

Parkinson looked up.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?!"

"I was doing our battle cry."

"Why?"

"Well, I thought it would lift our spirits up. You know, give us more confidence in pursuing these dastardly aurors and taking what's rightfully ours." Parkinson answered cheerfully.

"Blaise?" The ferret spoke through clenched teeth and he gave Zabini a sharp look.

Zabini looked at Malfoy with a mixture of fear and weariness.

"I thought those pipes were… _lost_." The mud-faced ferret said pointedly.

"Oh. I found them this morning," Parkinson said brightly. "Before we left actually. You'll never guess where I've found them, Draco."

"Probably not." Malfoy had trouble keeping the sarcasm from his voice. "Where was it?"

"I found them _deep_ into those caves _in_ the woods, _beneath_ a pile of leaves that was _under_ stacks of wood fit _in between_ huge boulders of rocks that was _covered_ in branches and twigs which were _near_ that swamp I'm a bit afraid at." Parkinson paused, and then added in a puzzled tone, "I don't even know how on earth they got there."

Malfoy turned and mumbled something like, "I don't bloody know how you _found_ them."

"Did you say something, Draco?"

"No," Malfoy lied. "Put the pipes down now, take the aurors' wands and break them except for one. We'll need that to obliviate these aurors. Go look around in case there are other aurors around."

Harry saw Parkinson as she left to go a bit further out.

"Blaise! I thought I told you to get rid of those things." Malfoy hissed at Zabini pointing at the pipes.

"I did. Didn't you hear where she found it? I swear she's tracking those things down somehow. I've been trying to get rid of it for months now."

"You shouldn't have given it to her in the first place."

"Well, it was the only thing I could steal from that old muggle's house at the time. And I haven't given her a present yet. Besides, she did say she knew how it worked. I didn't even know what it was."

"We're all paying for that mistake, aren't we? I swear I've already gone deaf from hearing that bloody thing everyday. Never mind. Let's all hope that Goyle can hide it better."

Before Zabini could utter a reply, Malfoy called Goyle out.

"Goyle, come here and hide the pipes first chance you get. Make sure that you hide it well." Malfoy pointedly looked at Zabini then said, "Better than Blaise's _obvious_ hiding place."

Harry watched Goyle grab the pipes and run looking for a hiding spot way, way, _way_ far off.

Harry glanced toward the third carriage, which was farther back than the first two. Harry wiggled his hands more and felt them finally slip from the rope.

He shook his head. Never had he seen a more inept band of thieves. Had the drivers been anything else but drunken old men, this band of Slytherin outlaws would be captives, that is, if they were very lucky and weren't dead instead.

Harry shifted his position and began to untie the wad of knots they had tied in his own shoes.

"Hold still, or I'll skin you alive and your remains will be nothing but bloody food for wild animals." Malfoy said coldly, grabbing the nearest man and placed the dagger against the man's neck.

The ferret's face was covered in brown mud that was beginning to crack. Leaves and twigs hung from his hair. All Harry could truly see were the whites of Malfoy's eyes.

"Get down from that carriage, you drunken fool!" Malfoy shouted.

The first driver wobbled drunkenly, then hiccupped twice before he climbed down.

The other driver joined him in the middle of the clearing, prodded along by Zabini with a dirk, which he kept near the man's throat.

"There's no other aurors with them." Parkinson's voice called out from somewhere.

"All right, then. Come back and wake up that driver over there!" Malfoy shouted at Parkinson.

Parkinson walked over to the third carriage and yelled at the snoring driver, "Get down!"

The driver slid out the stagecoach and staggered over to join the others.

"We've got to tie them down so they won't try anything." Zabini said.

"Pansy bind them, obliviate them, then knock them unconcious. We can't have anyone, especially the ministry, knowing our whereabouts."

Parkinson did as she was told.

Goyle came running back bagpipe, fortunately, not in hand. He skidded to a stop in front of the ferret. "I've done it! I hid Pa—"

Malfoy covered Goyle's mouth with both hands before he could utter another word. He glanced at Parkinson, sighing in relief when she didn't give any indication she heard Goyle.

"Shh. Quiet. We don't want Pansy knowing what we're up to." Malfoy whispered.

"Sorry."

"Hey, guys. Have any of you seen my pipes?" Parkinson asked as she stood, tasks done, wand in hand.

All three Slytherins froze suddenly.

"NO!" Goyle shouted defensively.

Malfoy rolled his eyes at Goyle's obvious lack of tact. "No, we haven't, Pansy." He reached for the wand and broke it in half

Pansy frowned. "Why'd you do that? I could've used the wand to summon my pipe before you destroyed it."

"We can't take the chance of the aurors using it. Besides, your pipe couldn't have gone anywhere far. You've probably dropped it somewhere over there."

Pansy seem to accept the explanation and began to look for those pipes everywhere.

All three sighed in relief.

Zabini just shook his head and said sarcastically, "Could you be any more obvious, Goyle?"

Goyle frowned, but before he could utter a reply Malfoy retorted, "Don't be such an arse, Blaise. It's a good thing I broke that wand before she could use it. I hope to Merlin she doesn't find those again." Then, he raised his voice and added to Goyle's left ear, "Go look at what's in those carriages, would you?"

As Goyle trudged to the stagecoaches, Zabini snorted. "Follows everything like a good little dog, doesn't he?"

Malfoy spun around to face Zabini clearly irritated. "What is your problem?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie, Blaise. You've been complaining and whining about my plots, which are amazingly brilliant as always. You're not following everything I say. You've been acting like there's something stuck up your arse all bloody week. E—" Malfoy stopped suddenly as a revelation dawned on him.

Then, a wicked gleam seem to spread across Malfoy's face. "Ever since, you and Pansy got into that fight. That doesn't have anything do with your foul mood, does it? Because you should know, it _is_ your fault."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know, denying it won't help."

"I'm not denying anything."

"So, you admit that you do like her? And now you're in a right foul mood because she's angry at you, aren't you?"

Zabini face paled, then he retorted desperately, "Of course not. Don't be such a girl, Draco."

Malfoy's face scrunched up in a scowl and Harry could swear there was steam coming out of his ears. "I'm not a girl!"

Harry knew that the topic before has been forgotten and Zabini has the upper hand in this argument. "Oh, come now, Draco. Surely, you must admit that those muggles' assertions weren't confounded. You are—how do those muggles say it?— too _pretty_ to be a boy."

"I AM NOT PRETTY!" Malfoy shouted, which simply amused Zabini even more.

Harry believed Malfoy's sentiment. Malfoy was _not_ pretty. Harry vaguely wondered if all the muggles they met were blind.

Parkinson and Goyle seemed to come back from wherever they came from and joined in Malfoy and Zabini's argument.

Mud flew in clods from Malfoy's face as the argument grew vigorously and he used gestures as much as words. Harry noted that he looked like a leper, mud clinging to his skin in spots. He thought that this suited ferret face just fine.

Harry sat there, watching another one of their trout brained conversations go on and on.

When he glanced at the ferret, Pansy was handing him a container of water. Malfoy's back was to Harry as he washed the mud from his face. It seems that their conversation has ended for the time being.

Harry smiled without humor, prepared to face the ugly mud ferret, Slytherin Ice Prince and all around prat.

Malfoy tossed the container and turned around.

Harry felt the smile fade from his face. He just sat there, frozen in that bush, not moving, not breathing.

"Bloody Hell…" he muttered. For the mere glimpse of a face that lovely, would make anyone bargain with the devil himself.

Now, he knew what Zabini meant when he said Malfoy mistaken for a girl wasn't confounded. He did look like one. Harry suddenly felt frustrated that he never noticed this fact.

Malfoy's skin was the color of snow, the kind that looked soft enough to make a man crave its touch, crave its taste, crave the feel of it against his own.

His features were proof of perfection—a heart shaped face, fine high cheekbones with the barest hint of a blush, full pink lips that turned his thoughts carnal, and eyes that slanted slightly upward, misty exotic steely silver eyes that fired lust in a man.

Harry rested his hands on bent knees and took a deep breath, then just continued to stare at him, unable to will himself to look away. He was the most exquisitely perfect being he had ever seen.

"Pansy! Blaise! Goyle!" Malfoy hollered. "We need to check on the oaf and leave!"

Except… for his mouth.

Harry pulled out a broach that was given by Hermione a few years back. He twisted his hands on the rope so it looked like they were tightly bound. He lay down eyes closed, his breathing slow and shallow, the broach clutched in his fist.

The bushes about Harry rustled. There was a moment of telling silence when he could feel Malfoy looking at him.

"He's still unconscious!" Malfoy shouted.

Harry heard footsteps coming closer.

"We'll lug him in the carriage." Malfoy said somewhere above Harry's head. "Come on, help me lift him."

Soon he felt four pairs of hands try to lift him. As they went past the bushes, Harry dropped the broach his been holding, a sign for Ron to find him.

As they reached the carriage, Malfoy had climbed inside and tugged Harry's shoulder, while the others tried to heave him up.

Harry fell on top of Malfoy and noticed that Malfoy smelled different from what he expected. He smelled _intoxicating_.

Harry's face was cradled against the soft skin of Malfoy's neck, while his body was practically covering Malfoy's.

Harry moaned and turned so his mouth rested against the nape of Malfoy's neck. Then, he groaned loudly against it, trying not to laugh when Malfoy gasped and tried to scoot away.

There was a telling moment of silence. Harry could feel Malfoy's face just inches from him, searching for a sign he was awake. Harry could feel the warmth of his breath when Malfoy finally breathed. Then, he moved away.

"Potter's waking up. Don't just stand around! Blaise! You take the first carriage. Goyle! Pansy!" Malfoy said. "You'll steer this carriage, while I guard the oaf."

Harry heard them move as Malfoy ordered them about.

Soon the wagons were lumbering as Harry lay with a ghost of a smile.

As Harry felt Malfoy settle beside him, he thought of that face, Malfoy's face. Perhaps he didn't want Ron to find him so soon, after all.

* * *

_TBC…_

* * *

A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews. I didn't imagine that many would like it. Kept me motivated actually… motivated enough to post this second chapter up after only a couple of days just in time for the Holidays.

Tell me if it's too long, too sloppy, too boring or too anything. And please inform me of any mistakes I may have made since I just rushed this chapter. Hope I didn't disappoint any of you!

Keep reviewing! Remember the more review, the sooner I'll work and post the next chapter!

Oh, and to answer one of my reviewer's, Argo's, question… Draco didn't use Harry's wand because Ron and Hermione do have connections in the ministry and they can track Harry down, even though the ministry have no idea he's been captured. I'm glad you thought through this story enough to warrant such a question!

Happy Holidays to all!!

* * *

A/N: Accidentally deleted this chapter... don't even ask how...

Luckily, I had a back up copy of it. So there it is.. chapter 2... _again_...

Cheerio!

silverdragon4736


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.

* * *

CHAPTER THREE

* * *

His stomach growled again.

Draco Malfoy looked down into the carriage at his prisoner, who was still unconscious. Since this was Harry Potter, he lifted a water bucket and dumped the whole thing on him.

Hah!

Much to Draco's dismay however, Potter didn't sit up coughing as he'd hoped. He didn't even flinch. He just slowly opened his eyes as if he has all day; as if he were dry as summer instead of dripping icy water from a nearby brook.

Potter stared at Draco from his vibrant forest green eyes. He didn't remember Potter having such intensity in his eyes. Hatred, anger, loathing and annoyed looks… that he was used to. But this was different.

It was the most unsettling look he had ever received.

For a brief instant he forgot that this was Potter.

He forgot to breathe.

He forgot to move.

But he would never forget that look.

Some weak part of him wanted to turn away, but he couldn't—_wouldn't_. Their gazes were suddenly weapons, each one of them trying to overpower the other with a look.

Draco's chin came up, yet he didn't blink. He would not let himself look away or even move. Not first, anyway.

He had to win. He _had_ to.

Draco couldn't guess Potter's thoughts, but he had the uncanny feeling Potter knew his better than he did. Why was it that Potter was his captive, yet Draco felt like he was the hunted?

"Draco!" Blaise shouted. "Come here!"

He blinked. "I'll be there in a moment."

Potter smiled mockingly, arrogantly, as if he'd won.

Draco drew his dagger and smiled back slowly, smugly.

Take that Potter!

Potter didn't react.

He moved the dirk toward him, waiting for some reaction from him: fear, tensing of his muscles, a tightening of his jaw. He got none, yet his own heart began to pound in his ears.

Potter never took his gaze from Draco's.

Draco felt his smile slowly fading. He moved the dirk down, pausing above Potter's heart.

No response. His manner was completely unchanged.

He moved the dirk to his belly.

Still nothing, not a flinch, not a sign that Potter was aware of his weapon.

His bluff wasn't working. He took a deep slow breath and moved the dagger lower.

He waited. No man wanted a knife of any kind near their groin. What would they think if something happened to it?

Time felt as if it had stopped. The tension between them grew rapidly until the air was taut and silent as a war ground was before the battle charge.

"Draco!" came the impatient call again.

Damn Potter's eyes for never flinching. Draco raised the dagger high. _What will he do now?_

Potter didn't even blink.

'Damn me', he thought to himself, 'for giving in.' He sliced the small knife downward toward Potter's feet and cut right through the knotted shoelaces.

"Get down." Draco waved the dagger in Potter's face. "And if you try to run away, you'll find this dagger behind your back." He gripped the splintery rim of the carriage with one hand and leapt to the ground.

He never saw the exposed nail.

Two steps and the sound of tearing fabric ripped through the air. He turned.

His robe had a hole in the back of it that was the size of the oaf's grinning black head. Draco jerked the fabric from the nail, spun on a heel and marched toward the others, his head high as he ignored Potter's snort of laughter.

"Malfoy!" Potter's voice was so deep it sounded like thunder.

He didn't remember Potter's voice sounding _that_ deep. Vaguely he thought how cruel fate was to give Potter such fortune—being taller than him, looking stronger than him, catching the snitch faster than him, and now sounding _manlier_ than him even after his countless of practices in front of the mirror.

He took comfort that at least, unlike Potter's, his hair was manageable. Bloody hell! It was _perfect_, if he did say so himself.

He took a deep breath, but did not turn around.

"I'm honored that you would show me such a view!"

Draco stopped. View? What view? He cast a glance over his shoulder to see what Potter was braying about.

Potter stared at his back, grinning.

He tried to follow Potter's gaze but couldn't look over his shoulder. With a sinking feeling of pure dread, he reached over a hand around, over his back. Over his hip. Over the tail of his shirt… and lower.

Draco touched bare skin. The hole was right over his arse. He jerked the folds of his robes, adjusting them to cover the rip of his robes and pants. He stuck his chin high and marched off, calling vivid and vile curses down upon the obnoxious Potter.

Stupid hard-headed Potter!

* * *

Harry's head wasn't the only thing that was hard.

His grin faded as he watched Malfoy stomp off. He leaned against his bent knees that were still stiff from lying prone for so long in the hard carriage.

An interesting last few moments, Harry thought. He was used to battles of pride. He had many of those during the war. But he'd never had to do this kind of staring battle with the Malfoy heir, who could have easily have gelded him with that dagger of his. He must be daft, to be toying with him.

Harry jumped down to the ground.

Malfoy stood by the other stagecoaches talking to Zabini and Goyle, while Parkinson kept burrowing through the supplies frantically.

"Has any of you seen my pipes?" Parkinson shouted.

Malfoy shook his head, gave Zabini and Goyle a conspiratorial smile, then, as if he'd felt Harry's stare, turned toward him.

Malfoy's smile faded.

For some reason, Harry cared not to analyze, that annoyed him.

Malfoy's chin went up a notch; then his hand slid to the handle of his dagger. He gave Harry a look that said, "I won."

One for Malfoy.

Harry leaned casually against the side of the carriage, crossing his ankles in nonchalance before intentionally staring straight at Malfoy's arse. He slowly let his gaze roam up from his feet, stopping every so often to smile knowingly and linger on another intimate part of his body before traveling on.

By the time Harry reached that incredible face, Malfoy was bright red and glaring. And Malfoy turned away.

One for Harry.

Harry laughed, using his loosely bound hands to shove away from the carriage. He twisted his wrist so the rope became tighter. It wouldn't do for it to fall off in front of them.

He took a step.

"Don't move!" warned Goyle.

Harry looked over his shoulder and froze.

Goyle stood nearby, pointing a dirk at him.

"Don't move!" Goyle warned again.

"I'm not moving, mate." Harry replied.

One for Goyle.

"Look! I found my pipes!" Parkinson's voice rang loudly from somewhere.

A moment later screeching pipes bellowed through the air.

Harry hit the dirt. Goyle moved towards Parkinson to stop that foul awful screech and Harry had never felt more grateful to anyone.

When he looked back, a familiar sight stopped in front of him. Draco Malfoy.

Across the way, Parkinson hit the pipes again. He ducked his head again. He thought the top of his head might blow off.

"I thought you said she wouldn't find it again."

"Sharp ears, Potter."

"Sharp tongue, Malfoy." Harry looked at him then, slowly, past his legs, past his hips where he rested his small fists, to that defiant and amazingly beautiful face.

"You move quickly, Potter, for someone who could be so easily captured."

"Not so quickly, Malfoy, that I cannot see a nail." Harry paused. "Or feel a draft."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed and his face flushed a familiar rosy color that made Harry grin.

"I shall not banter with idiots like you, Scarhead!" Malfoy sneered raising his chin up in arrogance.

"What's the matter, Malfoy? Can't think of anymore insults? Must be the cold getting to you." Harry said mockingly.

He took pleasure that Malfoy went a shade darker.

"You should watch what you say, Potty-mouth. I might change my mind and just slit your throat. Remember, you're the one tied up." Malfoy said maliciously, taking the dagger out.

Harry snorted knowing that Malfoy wouldn't have the nerve to harm him, lest he wants to forfeit the supposedly 'ransom' he'll be getting out of him.

"Potty-mouth. Scarhead. Aren't those insults a little too juvenile? A bit pathetic…" Harry continued adding the one bit he knew would get on Malfoy's nerves, "don't you think, Ferret?"

Harry smirked and Malfoy's eyes narrowed into a hard glare that would have work had it not been for the blush he was sporting and the pout that was just too tempting for Harry.

"I'm warning you, Potter!" he said before he spun around.

Harry watched him walk away, his head high, his shoulders and back straight. He oozed of elegance. He had sheer determination in every movement of his body, this ferret with dagger-sharp tongue, temper so fiery, and the face of an angel.

Goyle approached Harry, once again. "You're to move over there. By that tree." He nodded toward a large fir at the edge of a small clearing. "Where I can keep a better eye on you."

Harry stood, moved over toward the tree and could hear Goyle trudging in his wake.

Harry pointed at the tree, and asked, "You want me here?"

Goyle nodded, keeping his wary eyes on Harry, who sat down on a pile of crisp fallen leaves. Goyle moved a distance away and began to march back and forth like a sentry on a castle wall.

His hands were already unbound and he figured he could escape anytime he wanted to. As of now, this has been most entertaining and he decided to stick around for a couple of laughs and something else.

Harry relaxed his head against the tree trunk, closed his eyes, and let the steady methodical sound Goyle's marching lull him to sleep.

He found his thoughts drifting to Malfoy's flushed face and wondered how far that blush really goes.

* * *

A/N: Hello! I just want to thank everyone who read this fic, most especially those who reviewed. You people make my day!

I want to apologize for this chapter because I know it seems boring, dragging, a bit crappy and not to mention too rushed. Not to make excuses and all, but I blame it all on writer's block! I just wanted to post a chapter any chapter as soon as possible in hopes of destroying it's existence. Oh, and to show everyone that I have not abondoned this fic.

So, there. Please bear with me.

Anyway, tell me what you think, mistakes I made and how I can improve on it. Your opinion means the world to me. You serve as my muse and motivation to continue this fic and not surrender to my laziness that gave me half a mind to just abandon it.

So, keep reviewing and again thank you for those who have!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.

* * *

Chapter 4

* * *

Draco stood in front of Potter, a bowl of food in his hands. Pansy and Blaise had gathered in a circle between the stagecoaches and were busy eating. They were as famished as he was. After all, they only had one meal in the last three days, and that was only a couple of stale bread they've managed to steal.

"Go and get yourself something to eat, Goyle. I'll guard the lummox."

At that, Potter slowly opened his green eyes and looked at him.

"Here's some food." He shoved the bowl towards him.

"I didn't think filling my stomach was one of your concerns."

Draco snorted. "We're Slytherins, Potter. We don't starve our enemies unless there is something to gain… not that you'd look like you'd starve."

"Ah, like what you see, do you, Malfoy?"

Draco felt his cheeks turn red only out of anger, of course, and he swung the bowl high enough to heave it at him.

"Throw it." Said Potter.

Draco wanted to throw it—would have thrown it—until he told him to. Evil, speccy git. He lowered the bowl instead and held it out to him. Potter said nothing.

"Do you want it or not?" snapped Draco.

The black haired man gave him a lazy, winner's smile. "I can't take it. My hands are bound."

Draco looked at his mocking face, took a deep breath, and knelt in front of him, determined to remain calm, controlled—_unaffected_. One didn't give in to the devil. Kneeling in front of him only brought home to him the fact that even when sitting, Potter was still a couple of inches taller than him. It was unsettling as his staring games and made him feel as if he had to be more defiant to show him—prove to him—that he couldn't be intimidated.

"Untie my hands." Potter suggested too lightly for his tastes.

"So you can escape? I'm not a fool, Potter. I'll feed you."

He laughed again, as if this were only a game. "I would think you'd prefer to let me starve."

"A part of me would, believe me, Potter, but I would not let you starve." He jabbed the spoon into the bowl.

"Why not?"

"I'm thinking about figuring your ransom price with your weight. It's only poetic justice, wouldn't you agree? Though, you're _fat_ enough that I could let you go on by without a couple of meals. However, like I said before, we're Slytherins. We don't let something as petty as revenge get in the way of our judgment. You lose weight. We lose gold." He sat back on his heels and studied him for a moment. "I'd say your head alone is worth a small fortune."

"Ouch, Malfoy. What does it take to close your shrewish mouth?"

He held up the spoon. "What would it take to open your big one?"

"Are you referring to my mouth?"

It took Draco a moment to understand him. He felt the heat of a blush that showed he'd understood his meaning all too well. This was not supposed to be the way it goes. Harry Potter was not supposed to be making suggestive comments in this casual tone as if he's always done it (which he certainly hasn't for he was St. Potter), as if he's comfortable with it (which he was never supposed to be since he was an incompetent Gryffindor), much less say it without stuttering or tripping over his words (which Draco believe to be impossible for the Potter he knew was far from eloquent and was, in fact, a great bumbling fool). He, Draco Malfoy, was supposed to be the one to throw lewd comments that would make Potter embarrassed, humiliated, uncomfortable and angry and thereby be able to torture the prisoner like the perfect captor that he is.

Then Potter opened his big mouth and gave him a look of feigned innocence. He knew that look. He'd used it often enough himself. He's practically perfected it. Potter, on the other hand, could use a little more practice, which made Draco feel smug about besting Potter.

From the sparkle in those green eyes he could see that Potter, the bastard, was enjoying this immensely. For just one moment he asked himself if he could dump the bowl on the git's head. But someone who knew true hunger could never waste food.

Draco lifted the spoon towards Potter's mouth, anxious to get the deed done.

Green eyes watched him expectantly.

His hands had slowed as if Potter could control him with his very eyes.

Draco fed him and it was unnerving. Not once did Potter look away. He resisted the urge to squirm and looked back down at the bowl instead of him. It was a game, Draco feeding him and Potter giving him a look as if it could melt him.

Draco took a deep breath and lifted the spoon toward Potter's mouth, not knowing that he moved with it, closer, his mouth still parted. Potter moved toward him simultaneously and his green eyes shifted to his mouth.

Draco could smell Potter.

Potter moved closer and closer with each bite.

He was so very close, but Draco refused to back away from him. He would not. He was still a Malfoy. He still had his pride.

"Thank you, Draco Malfoy, for the food. It was sweet of you."

No one had ever called him sweet.

Before he could think or move, Potter's mouth touched his and moved softly, tenderly, in a touch he'd never known. A kiss. His _first_ kiss.

It was not his fault that he was inexperienced in this field. Being a Malfoy, he had to have high standards and he did. After all, he was taught to never settle for second best. Not to mention, the war set off at a time when these interests were discovered and supposedly developed. Puberty was lost on him since he couldn't very well have or look for these relationships when all his thoughts centered only on his survive both during and after the war.

At that instant, Draco forgot that Potter was Potter and just let himself feel this thing that he had often wondered about. This thing that he couldn't have talked to anyone about because it would show his inexperience, which was, of course, unacceptable to his pride.

When Potter licked his lips, he felt himself shiver.

Potter shifted so his hard thighs were suddenly outside Draco's; then he edged him back until they were shielded from the others by the tree. Before he could react, Potter's tongue filled his mouth, and he pinned Draco against the tree with his body.

Potter kissed him for a long time that way. He had no idea how long.

Potter surprised him and broke it off.

Instantly, Draco wanted his mouth back.

Potter's lips drifted like snowflakes all over his face.

He opened his mercury eyes and looked at him.

Potter looked somewhat dazed. There was no calculation, mischief or smugness in his expression, just surprise, and something more elemental—power, possession, and passion, an intensity that excited and frightened him at the same time. And there was a small bit of doubt, as if he didn't believe that Draco was real.

He understood the feeling all too well.

* * *

Harry knew this feeling not at all. He had his fair share of lovers but never had he felt this violent consuming need to possess Malfoy. It was a deep and passionate urge that felt as if it bordered on obsession.

They panted little clouds of ragged mist. He watched him close those stunning orbs of mercury in an effort to deny what had passed between them.

But it did no good. It was undeniable to him, too.

Draco's eyes were tinged with dampness, and his cheeks had begun to blotch. He was fighting to control his tears.

Pride he understood. "Go on, shed your tears," Harry said with grudging respect. "To cry is not shameful, Malfoy."

"I do not cry." He said fiercely.

But Draco wouldn't look at him. Instead, he scrambled away. "Do not touch me again, Potter." He stood quickly—a power play if he'd ever seen one—and then he did look down at him with blazing quicksilver eyes. "You'll regret this. You'll regret ever making a fool of me."

He spun on a heel and walked away, his pride high, but Harry knew he was not as strong as he tried to be, as unaffected and without care. He had to work too hard at it. In fact, he'd never before seen anyone who worked as hard to be what he wasn't.

Harry leaned back against the tree trunk then, adjusted his "bound" hands, and closed his eyes. He dreamt of muddy prats and pointed gits, of blonde-haired beings who looked like heaven and could capture a heart with only a kiss.

* * *

_TBC..._

* * *

A/N: Well, there you go chapter 4. Hope you like it. Thank you all so much for the reviews. I absolutely adore them and their ability to make me giggle, restless and giddy. Not to mention, it keeps me motivated, which is BRILLIANT. Tell me what you think of this so far. And please have patience and faith, I will finish this story even if it does take a year for me to update, sometimes. (Though hopefully, never again!)

Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Don't own anything you recognize.

* * *

CHAPTER 5

* * *

Harry woke up to the bloody awful wailing sound of Parkinson's piping.

"Pansy!" Malfoy shouted.

Parkinson was standing on top of one of the wagons. She heaved a mighty sigh and looked down, a prideful dreamy expression on her face. "Doesn't the sound stir your heart with pureblood pride to take back what has been stolen from us?"

_No_, Harry thought, _it was enough to make anyone give everything they had to stop that screeching, pureblood pride or not._

"Put those bloody pipes down, and tell me what's in the carriage." Malfoy said. "I'm making a list."

Goyle was still on guard duty. Although now, Harry noted, there was a pike resting atop of his shoulder, and this seemed to make the bloke feel more serious about his duty so much so that Harry watched him walk twenty times the length he had the previous night. He would reach the edge of the glen and turn sharply, marching back past Harry and past the wagons to the other side.

Goyle abruptly turned, and the pike knocked the needles from a pine with a _whack_! Yet on he went, marching back and forth, pivoting when he reached some imaginary boundary only he must have known.

"Couple of herbs in this one!" Zabini called out from one of the wagons.

"What kind?" Malfoy asked.

"I can't tell." Zabini answered with a shrug. "Never been good at Herbology or Potions."

Goyle marched past, stepping high, the pike on his shoulder. It was amusing.

"I've got a couple of old crates here!" Parkinson called out.

Goyle pivoted and marched past.

"Open it then." Malfoy said.

"They're smelly!" Parkinson shrieked as she faced Malfoy, then added, "Duck!"

"Dead or alive?" Malfoy casually asked as he wrote something down to the piece of parchment on his hands.

Harry looked at Parkinson in time to see her leap in the air just as Goyle turned and his pike whipped under her feet.

Parkinson landed back down on the dirt and shouted, "Goyle!"

Completely oblivious, Goyle halted mid-pivot, the long pike still on his shoulder. It was barely a foot away from Malfoy's head.

"What, Pansy? Where are you?" Goyle called out, searching.

Unfortunately, he spun back around toward Pansy who didn't move quickly enough. The pike hit her in the back.

There was a loud thud.

"Oh!" Goyle exclaimed, looking down at his feet. "There you are, Pans. What are you doing lying on the ground resting while we're doing all the work?"

Pansy's faced turned from a furious red into a livid purple. She stood up, took the pike from Goyle and proceeded to hit him back.

She only got one in the stomach before Zabini, who went out of one of the carriages to see what the commotion was about, and Malfoy, who glanced up from his writing to due to the sounds of _whack whack whack_, catch her arms, hold her down and try to drag her away from the now whimpering Goyle.

* * *

For over two hours the cumbersome rundown carriages rattled and bumped over a mountain road. The higher they traveled, the thicker the forest and the mist, which was all very good and well for covering their tracks from would-be pursuers.

Blaise drove the first carriage alone since Goyle didn't have much—nor any come to think of it—sense of direction if he, say, suddenly and unfortunately lose track of Blaise to follow. And it would've been asking too much of Pansy to help or to notice as she would be playing her bagpipes, much to the dismay of all.

Goyle drove the other carriage alongside Pansy. She had agreed that she would not harm, kill or maim—nor _attempt_ to do these things—to Goyle since the alternative would be to ride with Blaise and she was still rather sore about their fight. It probably helped that Draco had secretly forced Goyle—because bitchy Pansy was grating on his nerves—to ask her to play for him during the ride since Draco believed and, _most importantly_, made Goyle believe that he, Gregory Goyle was the sole cause of her anger and also the fact that she quickly found the pipes in a most _obvious_ hiding spot. Not to mention that because he was already deaf in one ear the pain of her 'music' would be reduced to half, and thus, it would only be fair that he sit closest to her. Draco sat inside the carriage and kept a watchful eye on Potter.

Draco found that he could concentrate better on their surroundings and on stopping the pounding in his head and ears now that Pansy had _finally_ decided to rest from her playing as she had been at it for hours.

Reaching up to the heavens like the bruised arms of some enormous god were the purple crags of mountains. It reminded him of the view from his mother's garden in the Manor. He remembered the times when his father would teach him the history of their lineage, when his mother would point to different plants and tell him about them, or when they, as a family, would have a picnic in the summer. He remembered the times before he came to Hogwarts—before Voldemort came back.

"What are you thinking, Malfoy?"

That deep voice went through Draco as if it flowed in his blood. Only the sound of his voice made him feel these things.

Annoyed, Draco looked at him.

Potter was reclining, kinglike, atop some crates. When he'd last looked at him, he'd been asleep. How he could manage it with Pansy's piping, Draco didn't know. "You're awake."

"Yeah."

"I wonder how a man responsible for destroying more than a handful of pureblood families, even if they were on the same side, can sleep so peacefully." Draco said snidely. Obviously, Potter had caught him in a bad mood. Obviously, he was still a bit sore about the kiss. So _obviously_, Potter should've known better and stayed asleep.

"My conscience is clear, Malfoy." Potter answered. "The barest hint of suspicion and accusation from _anyone_ was heard, taken to court and given a fair trial. I admit that the methods were more… exacting. But it's fair. It's not enough to just plead _Imperio _anymore."

Draco snorted. "_Exacting_, Potter? It's unjust." He wanted to hit Potter. "Our gold, heirlooms, homes were taken from us before the trial. For _inspection_, they said. Well, that's bollocks! How can we defend ourselves when we can't afford a good arguer, when we don't even have food to eat and shelter to sleep?"

"I don't—" Potter stopped and frowned. "Were you found guilty?"

"Do you think we're mad? Of course we didn't go!" Draco spat.

"Why not?"

"Why not?!" Draco sneered. "Once you have that bloody Dark Mark on your arm or your associated with someone who does, you're more or less condemned to either spend your life being haunted by Dementors or Kissed. It doesn't matter if we've been helping _your _side all along." Draco felt himself shake in fury. "There is no fair trial for that. No fair verdict. Those trials are farce."

"You should have shown up, Malfoy." Potter said seriously. "They wouldn't have found you guilty. Plus, I've seen that you don't even bear the Mark."

"You're right, Potter." Draco said sarcastically. "They wouldn't have cared that most of my family are Death Eaters, that most of my friends are Death Eaters, that I'm in Slytherin, a Pureblood and a Malfoy because _I_ don't have the Mark even if that, as you had just admitted, the methods were _more _exacting. Really, Potter. What was I thinking?"

Draco didn't need Potter's fake sympathy. He didn't need his stupid and _completely _obvious lies. He wondered for a moment just why it is Potter was pursuing this.

Potter continued letting Draco's comment slide, "Look at Nott. He was found innocent even if he bears the Mark."

"That's because he's shagging Loony Lovegood. Probably knocked her up, too."

"Luna wasn't the only one to testify for him, you know." Potter paused, then continued earnestly. "If you give me something to work with—proof of your loyalty like who you reported to, I could get you all another chance at a trial. I'll even testify on your behalf."

_Ah_, Draco thought, _There's his motive_.

"If this is your way of convincing me to let you go, then you are stupider than I expected." Draco scoffed. He couldn't believe it. Did Potter seriously think that he'd be foolish enough to fall for that? Did Potter think that he'd let himself get bested _again_?

"I'm serious, Malfoy. I believe you. I believe you when you say that you—or any of your friends—aren't Death Eaters." Green eyes looked into silver. "Let me help you."

At that moment, Draco truly hated Potter. Draco hated Potter for looking so sincere, for acting like he bloody cared. He hated this Gryffindor for what he made him feel, for making him want to believe his lies and for making that little bit of hope that _maybe_ they could finally stop just surviving and live—the hope he'd tried so hard to keep buried, dead and forgotten—rekindle for a moment.

But Draco was not a bloody fool. People only offered help when they want something in return. And for Potter that was _escape_.

"We don't need your charity, Potter. We'll get enough from your ransom." Draco said coldly and made it clear that this conversation was over.

Potter sighed, shook his head. He looked like he wanted to say more but didn't.

Draco mentally sighed in relief. He was suddenly very tired, and was grateful for the silence that followed. It wouldn't do for him to lose control of his composure. If his father had taught him anything, it was to not let your emotions show lest it be used against you. Showing your emotions gives other people knowledge on what affects you, which leads to letting them see your weaknesses.

And Draco refused to be _weak_.

Potter said suddenly breaking the silence, "Well, you still haven't answered my question."

Draco didn't know how to handle the Harry Potter that appears to not hate him—the one that wants to help. He could, however, handle the obnoxious Harry Potter that is too curious for his own good.

"I've forgotten it." Draco lied thinking that maybe there was something here that he could use to gag Potter with.

"I asked what you were thinking."

Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Why do you want to know Potter?"

Potter shrugged. "Humor me."

An evil glint appeared in his mercuric orbs. "I'm thinking how to prove to your lapdogs that we've really got you. Maybe I should send them a foot? No, that'll make dragging your fat arse harder. What about a hand?" Draco paused for effect. "Oh, I know! Maybe I'll just slice a piece of your forehead and send them your scar! I bet that'll be proof enough."

"Where, Malfoy, did you get that mouth?"

"The same place you got your cowardice, Potter. I was born with it."

Potter's expression changed so swiftly Draco almost flinched. Those green eyes of him glittered with fierce hardness, and he seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "Men have died for calling another a coward," he said with a calm Draco sensed as deadly. "I suggest you do not use the word coward to me again."

He could handle an angry Harry Potter, too. After all, he'd had years of practice provoking him. Draco was not afraid. "I'll say whatever I like, Potty. You're the captive, not I."

Neither of them spoke. It looked as if he was counting.

_Good._ Draco thought._Be angry. I could not care less._

Draco ignored Potter and fiddled with the ragged edge of his robe for the tense minutes that followed.

Finally, Potter broke the silence. "I wonder that you cannot find the courage to look me in the eye."

Draco's head shot up, and his grey orbs met Potter's challenging look with a stubborn one of his own.

"Nor can you answer a civil question."

"Why do you care?

Potter just looked at him, waiting for an answer.

Draco let out an irritated sigh. "Why should my thoughts concern you?"

Still, Potter said nothing.

And once again, they found themselves surrounded by silence.

* * *

It was about an hour later when Harry felt Malfoy looking at him. He glanced up thinking that finally Malfoy had stopped his angry sulk. Harry didn't feel the need to know why he felt relieved that Malfoy had stopped pretending he didn't exist.

Malfoy scowled and turned away, digging beneath him and coming up with a dark red apple. He took out more and handed one to Goyle then to Parkinson. Harry felt relieved as he heard her put the pipes down and take the apple from Malfoy feeling grateful at his attempt to make Parikinson take another _longer_ break. Harry had never truly appreciated silence until he was captured by this band of former Slytherins.

Malfoy pulled out his dirk and began to peel the remaining fruit.

_It's like watching a child with a toy_, Harry thought. Malfoy slowly drew the blade round and round so the peeling curled downward.

When the entire peel was only one long dark bouncing spiral, he grinned and cut it off, lifting the peel up to eat. Then, Malfoy noticed Harry was watching him and flushed as red as the apple. He stuck his chin up.

Harry found his game with the apple charming. He didn't care whether Malfoy looked at him or not. He enjoyed watching him. Perhaps it was the expressiveness of his features, the way every thought in that obstinate little mind flickered across his face as clear as spring water for but a few moments before he would realize he's not alone and let ice freeze and obscure it. He was in a fine temper. And Draco Malfoy was lovely in a temper, in spite of his scowl or his zeal to chew the bloody apple as slowly as he could manage. Malfoy was an enigma, a puzzle, a mystery that is so forbiddingly enticing to him.

Harry smiled.

Malfoy looked at him out of the corner of his eye, and Harry winked. The former Slytherin quickly looked away. He stared at the back of the blonde's head, and after some time Malfoy looked at the apple in his hand, and then muttered something.

"I can't hear you, Malfoy, when you speak to the forest." Harry said, watching him cut of a chunk of the fruit.

Still, the Malfoy heir didn't look at him, but shouted, "I said… would you like some apple?"

"Sounds familiar, a woman offering a man an apple…"

Malfoy spun around as Harry had expected he would, his blazing eyes narrowed in anger. "I am no woman, Potter! And I certainly don't see a man."

"If only you knew how badly I want to say something right now."

"What?" he asked his expression suspicious and curious. It was an interesting combination to watch—stubbornness and innocence. Harry shook his head and tried not to smile.

"Say it."

"No. I don't think so."

"No courage, Potter."

"Just being politic, Malfoy."

"Bah!" he said, and tossed the piece of apple in the air. With rapier speed, Harry sat up and caught the small chunk of apple in his open mouth. He heard Malfoy's gasp of surprise and leaned back against the bags grinning at him while he chewed.

For one brief second he thought Malfoy might smile, but he didn't.

Harry swallowed, and then nodded looking at the apple. "Is that small piece all you're going to give me?"

Malfoy cut off another chunk and tossed it high in the air again.

Harry watched the piece of apple fall, and then smoothly moved, catching it the same way he had before.

Malfoy flicked a third piece.

Harry caught it.

And another.

He caught it, too.

Faster and faster, chunks of apple flew through the air as quickly as his dagger could slice. Cheeks bulging, Harry caught the last one, and a brilliant smile appeared on Malfoy's face.

Harry chewed, grinning.

Malfoy sagged back against the wagon bed still smiling. It was the first sincere smile Harry had ever seen on his face. "Well, I see you still move fast enough to warrant as a seeker. Though, I'm still faster."

"It is not speed that counts but agility and patience. There are some things, _some situations_, when slow and easy is better."

Harry saw that Malfoy didn't understand what he meant. But he had to give him credit for covering it well. Malfoy stuck up his chin, his expression suddenly filled with certainty. "Yes, slow can be better." He paused thoughtfully. "Certainly better for torturing prisoners."

Malfoy always had to have the last word.

* * *

Pansy's bagpipes bellowed overhead, playing a tune like a dying animal. Draco had decided that for the sake of annoying Potter, he would let Pansy play. Potter had cringed every time she hit a note.

The road had narrowed into a steep climb and became more pocked with holes. As the two carriages climbed up the grade, they had to slow to a crawl because it was more difficult to keep the carriages on the center of the rough steep road.

They neared the crest of a hill and Draco slowly craned his neck over the side of the stagecoach to look down at the drop below, where a river ran through a wooded area. It was a long drop.

His belly fluttered uneasily. He wasn't afraid of heights. He'd been seeker after all, but, the war had made him… _wary_ of it.

Being this high up, he remembered being on his broom a hundred feet above the ground trying to dodge curses and hexes with his fellow Slytherins. He remembered when his broom caught on fire and how he tried his hardest to maneuver it down as long as he could. He remembered letting go because his hands were burning—because _everything_ was burning. He remembered a body slamming into him, holding him and shielding him from the fall. He remembered hearing a splash, and then water charging at him from all sides. He remembered feeling the body that protected him so tightly before—that took the most damage from the fall—loosen its grip. He remembered grabbing one of its arms while kicking his legs frantically to swim to the surface. He remembered the cool night air hitting his face, making him shiver as he looked at the one who saved his life.

Being this high up, Draco remembered how Vincent Crabbe died for him.

His hands gripped the wagon rim tighter, so tight that he could see his knuckles turning white. He glanced back at Potter.

Potter appeared not the least bit concerned of the rough ride or the deadly drop, which made Draco more determined not to show that he was. In spite of his churning belly, he straightened his shoulders and let go of the carriage's rim, then calmly folded his hands on his lap as if he were sitting in a chair.

The wheel beneath Draco hit a deep grove on the road. Pansy missed a note, a painful experience for anyone nearby.

"Oh! That wasn't right, was it?" Pansy asked, pausing so that the only noise was sweet blessed silence. She played another wrong note—not that she ever actually played a right one—frowned, shook her head then tried four or five more that were equally spine-raking.

"Well." Pansy gave a deep sigh. "I'll just have to start all over again from the beginning."She started so loudly that she couldn't possibly hear the groans of the others.

Potter winced, and then turned to Draco who was taking deep breaths to calm his stomach. He shouted, "Have you thought about hiding those bloody things in a lake? A _very __deep_ lake?"

Quickly, Draco pulled his hand back from the rim wagon, where it had been gripping the side despite all his intentions.

_Relax._ Draco told himself. _It happened a long time ago, and it's not going to happen again. You are not going to fall. Nobody is going to die this time. You are not going to let it._

The carriage hit a deep rut and bounced hard. The old latch on the door was ripped out.

And then, Draco slipped. "Oh Merlin…"

He slid right over the edge of the side of the carriage but made a desperate grab for the rim.

Splintery wood dug into his palms. But he _wouldn't_ let go. Not again.

He hung on with everything he had. His body dangling helplessly over the crag as it banged against the side of the bouncing carriage. He screamed for help, but his voice was drowned out by the skirling squeal of Pansy's pipes.

Suddenly, Potter was there. His hands held Draco's slender wrists. Potter's powerful grip pulled him upward into his arms. Draco knelt atop the crate, holding on to Potter so tightly he could barely catch a breath. He felt himself shake. He was on the verge of tears, so he buried his face on Potter's neck.

"You're safe, Draco." Potter's hands rubbed his back so soothingly. His powerful hands, the ones that had saved him, were now calmly, tenderly rubbing his fears away.

Those big strong hands.

Potter's big strong _free_ hands.

Draco pushed himself away and looked at Potter who was kneeling with his _free_ hands holding him. "You utter prick! Your hands aren't bound at all!"

"A fact that just saved you arse, Malfoy."

Angrily, Draco jerked back pulling Potter with him.

The crate beneath them wobbled and teetered. Goyle drove the wagon straight into a deep hard rut.

"Bloody hell!" Potter swore as he lost his balance and fell right into Draco with all of his weight.

Not a second passed and they both went over the edge.

* * *

A/N: Well, this is an _extra_ long chapter to make up for the long delay. Yes, I know. It feels sort of like a couple of drabbles randomly stuck together. I know this because _it is_ (NOTE: the many divisions and general bipolarity). I seem to have lost the power to coherently and cohesively write things that make sense and doesn't jump from one thing to the next. I just wanted to get something out since it's been ages since I updated and I feared if I tried to revise it one more time (or add another drabble-like continuation) I'd never post it. Maybe I'll edit this later or scrap the whole thing and just replace it with something _hopefully _better.

I'm a little bit lost right now. Although I've got a vague idea on where I want to take this, every time I write it down it ends up being... worse and very disappointing. So, I would really appreciate constructive criticisms. Please feel free to point out any mistakes or just any general rubbish that you find and any ideas to make it less rubbish.

Thanks for reading!^^


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Don't own anything you recognize

* * *

CHAPTER 6

* * *

With an uncanny sense of acceptance, Draco waited to die.

Suddenly, Potter's big arms clamped tightly around him as they fell. He twisted in midair, his body protecting Draco's.

Just below the cliff, the hill sloped, and they slammed into it so hard that both of them grunted; then they rolled together, and went down over grass and dirt.

Sharp rocks scraped and gouged Draco and must have done the same to Potter's arms, which were still wrapped protectively around the blonde. Draco could feel him try to take the burnt of the battering, trying to keep his body between him and the slick hillside. Shale splintered and scattered with them as they slid until they splashed to a stop in a shallow river.

The water was freezing.

Head dripping, Potter came up coughing. "Bloody hell Malfoy! Can you do nothing without throwing your whole body into it?"

Draco sat for only the time it took to blink, then pulled out his dagger and flew at the ex-Gryffindor, water splattering with him. "No, I can't! Watch this!" And he hit Potter with his whole body to prove a point.

Potter fell back with another splash, Draco straddled his chest and placed the dagger on Potter's neck. Green eyes opened and looked up at him, the gaze moving from Draco's face to the dagger poised once again on his neck. The blonde grinned down at him.

Draco had him.

After a moment during which the idiot appeared to be fighting back a laugh, he said, "Seriously, Malfoy, we have to stop meeting like this."

Draco was confused for a few seconds before he remembered the last time they'd been in this same position. Under the tree. "You were awake!"

Potter flipped Draco onto his back so swiftly Draco lost his breath.

Stunned, he stared up at Potter, his body pinned between the black haired man's splayed thighs, his hands gripping Draco's wrist so tightly above his head that the dagger plopped uselessly into the trickling water.

"Yeah, Malfoy. I was." Potter said grinning down at him.

* * *

Malfoy's knees battered Harry's lower back, and the blonde twisted upward trying to unseat him.

Harry tightened his thighs, holding Malfoy more firmly and pinned his struggling wrists. The blonde head jerked from side to side causing water to spray up with each motion. Malfoy fought wildly, until his breath came in exhausted pants and his chest heaved.

Harry could read the panic in his face and feel the rapid beat of his pulse. Those desperate silver eyes left his face and turned toward escarpment. He was looking for help.

In the distance, the weak wail of a bagpipe could be heard. His fellow band of Slytherin thieves had no idea that they were gone.

Harry watched the play of emotions upon his face.

"Go on." Malfoy's chin went up. "Do it." He said in an emotional rasp. Mercury eyes closed a sigh escaping his lips. Then his whole body went surprisingly limp.

Harry knelt there, watching Malfoy, confused.

The blonde held his breath for a long time, eyes still closed. He turned his head away, then exhaled dramatically. "I'm ready." Malfoy took another deep breath and lay there very still. After another minute of silence, one silver eye opened, peering at Harry suspiciously. "What are you waiting for, Potter? Do it."

"Do what?"

"Beat me. Kill me. Take your pick. It's clear that I certainly have no say in the matter." Malfoy shut his eyes and flopped his head back in the most dramatic gesture of submission Harry had ever witnessed.

"Ah, yes." Harry said trying to hold back a smile. "I'd forgotten." He just let the silence drag on.

"What the bleeding hell are you waiting for, Potter?!"

There was that mouth again. Harry nodded, then cocked his head thoughtfully. "There are other alternatives."

Harry felt the body under him stiffen. Grey eyes looked at him, his face no longer so fierce.

"I could take you back to the ministry."

Harry could see the silver eyes grew big and molten—trying not to let his fear show. After a beat, the blonde thrashed, squirmed and wiggled with new vigor. He decided Malfoy had enough teasing and released one wrist. Then Harry quickly snatched the other up the fallen dirk before he could beat him to it.

Dirk in hand, Harry turned back toward him.

Malfoy screamed loud enough to crack heaven.

Harry sat on him to keep him from squirming away. "Hold still!"

"NO! GET OFF!"

"Damn it, Malfoy! Stop moving!" Harry gripped his flailing wrists just as a knee rapped his back hard. "I'm not taking you to the ministry!"

A second later Malfoy stilled, looking up at him with a bewildered expression. "You're not?"

Harry stood up and looked down at him, holding out a hand. "No, I'm not."

Stubborn to the last, Malfoy ignored his outstretched hand and scrambled to his feet on his own. He rammed his shoulders back and struck his chin up high. "I was right then Potter. You are a coward."

Harry counted to ten, slowly, very slowly. Finally, he looked up the hillside, searching for the best path back to the top. The sound of splashing water came from behind Harry. He turned.

Malfoy stood there wringing out his sodden robes. His blonde hair hung damply framing his face, and his robes clung to his slender body.

Harry watched him twist the water from his clothing. Malfoy wrung out each section of fabric with the same zeal Harry would have liked to use to wring his stubborn neck. Malfoy didn't look up, didn't acknowledge him, yet Harry knew that Malfoy was aware that he was watching him. Harry turned back and eyed the hillside again.

"What are you going to do with me, Potter?"

Malfoy had purposely waited until he turned to start speaking. Harry sought more patience—something that was running thin. He turned. "What do you think I should do with you?"

"I don't know, Potter. It's why I asked." Malfoy said rolling his silver eyes.

Harry leaned back against the rock face and eyed the blonde. "What would you say if I choose to remain your captive?"

Malfoy gaped at him, then quickly recovered his surprise. "I'd say you're a coward and an idiot. Well, a bigger idiot than I thought." With a narrow-eyed look of suspicion, he asked, "Why would you do that?"

"I want to help you." Harry turned his back to him.

Malfoy snorted. "Not bloody likely. You probably just want to spy on us. Or I suppose it could really just be plain stupidity. After all, one can never underestimate the idiocy of a Gryffindor."

Harry counted to fifty this time and surveyed the hillside.

After a few more too quiet moments, Malfoy said, "I don't believe you."

Harry ignored him and stepped back so he could better see the face of the cliff.

"What are you looking for?"

"A way back up to the road."

Malfoy followed Harry's gaze to the steep hillside covered with slick rock. The mist was slowly dropping and wisps of fog hovered near the top of the cliffs. "They'll come back." Malfoy said with confidence Harry didn't feel.

Harry headed for a small break in the rock. "Come this way."

"I think this way is better." Malfoy said, and moved in the other direction because, of course, Malfoy always had to be contrary.

Harry turned and grabbed him by the shoulder. He nodded in his direction. "This way."

"But this way looks easier." Malfoy argued.

Harry ground his teeth together. It kept him from killing Malfoy.

Malfoy tightened his jaw and lifted his chin in defiance.

Harry has had enough. In one swift movement, he picked Malfoy up, ignoring his yelp of protest. Harry set the blonde on the ground directly in front of him, turned Malfoy around so he was facing the right direction, and said, "Walk."

Malfoy scowled at him over a shoulder, then foolishly opened his mouth to argue.

"Now!" Harry barked, leaning over him and using his size to try to intimidate him.

Malfoy glared at him, muttering something about fools and brutes that made Harry itch to toss Malfoy back into the river, but Malfoy walked toward the path Harry had found. They traveled about ten yards and hit a section of sheer rock.

"So now what, oh great prat?" Malfoy's tone said in a tone that dripped of _I told you so_.

Harry counted to a hundred this time, then scanned the hillside for an alternative route. He didn't like Malfoy's smug smirk, and liked his casual humming even less. When Malfoy began to mutter about hardheaded black haired ex- Gryffindor idiots in a not-so-low voice, Harry wondered why Malfoy was ever gifted with speech.

"Come here." Harry said.

"Why?"

"Because I told you to."

"I don't wish to." Malfoy crossed his arms and stood there.

"But I wish you to. Now."

"No."

Harry saw red and took a long step toward him.

Malfoy wisely balked no more than a second longer then slowly took a few steps toward him muttering, "I'm coming, you brute."

* * *

A long hour and many _many_ arguments later, during which Draco Malfoy luckily escaped with his neck intact, they reached that narrow road and both sat back down, waiting for Malfoy's band of thieves to come back for them.

There was no sign of returning carriages—no dust cloud above the road, no jangle of harnesses, no thud of hooves, and most telling of all, no bellowing bagpipes. Nothing.

"They'll be coming soon." Malfoy said for the tenth time.

The minutes moved like glaciers. Malfoy took to drawing circles in the dirt with a twig he found. Harry took to pacing.

"You'd have thought they'd have noticed we were gone when the song ended."

Malfoy looked away.

Harry looked down at him. "How long is that song?"

After a pause, Malfoy replied, "If Pansy can get through the entire thing with no mistakes, perhaps ten minutes."

"And if not?"

"She always starts from the beginning."

Harry groaned, then sat down next to Malfoy on the hard ground.

Malfoy scooted over, scowling at him.

Harry stretched his long legs out and rested his arms atop his knees. "It's going to be a _long_ wait then."

"You're wrong, Potter. They'll be back."

* * *

It was sunset when Harry finally stood again. He dusted himself off and, without a word, started to walk up the road in the direction the carriages have gone.

"Where are you going?" Malfoy called out.

Harry ignored him.

"Potter!"

Harry kept on walking.

"You're my captive! Remember? You can't just up and leave!"

It wasn't long before he heard the sound of Malfoy's running feet. Harry grinned and lengthened his stride.

Malfoy scurried up to him, grumbling.

Harry looked down at him. "Learned your lesson, did you?"

Malfoy's mouth thinned and his eyes narrowed to a frosty glare. He looked straight ahead and made a fierce attempt to match Harry's pace. Malfoy's arms pumped and his feet scurried but never once did he lower his determined chin. Harry caught Malfoy's covert glance just before the blonde said, "You couldn't ever teach me anything Potter."

"Oh, I could teach you something, Malfoy."

"No doubt some inspiring tidbit." Malfoy paused, which put him a few steps behind Harry.

Harry could hear him running to catch up.

Malfoy rushed by him and stuck his chin up, still staring straight ahead. "Perhaps you can instruct me on how to avoid an ambush."

"Perhaps I can teach you to land where you aim."

Malfoy spun around, the ragged damp robe whirling about him. Harry caught his flying fist in one hand before it hit his chin.

Harry held it tightly and looked down at Malfoy, patience gone.

Silver eyes glared at him. Malfoy's chin raised a notch and then he tried to punch Harry with the other fist.

Harry ducked under his fist and at the same time flung Malfoy over a shoulder, pinning his flailing legs with one arm.

"Perhaps, Malfoy," Harry shouted over the squeals of protests, "this will teach you when I've had enough."

Harry kept on walking, one arm clamped across the back of Malfoy's thighs. He ignored the blonde's struggles, ignored Malfoy's fists beating at his back and did his best to ignore that mouth.

* * *

A/N: Well, what do you guys think of this chapter? I just realized that the romance isn't really moving along so I'll be quickening the pace since that's the main point of the whole story and the reason why I even started writing it. But I don't know if it's going to look too rushed if I did that so any thoughts on how fast or slow I should take it? Constructive criticisms are always welcome.

Thanks for reading!

P.S. I just can't get over the fact that this story has reached 100 reviews even though sometimes it literally takes years for me to update. So thank you for that lovelies!


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

* * *

Draco was quiet for the first time since Potter had decided he was a sack of oat flour. Unfortunately, his screaming hadn't sparked a single response from him; other than that obnoxious whistling. The man thought he was a lark.

Potter had finally put him down a little while ago. Draco turned back toward the small glen near the road, where a covey of grouse were feeding. His stomach growled. He could just see them roasting on a fire. He was so very hungry, but he wouldn't admit that to the black headed man.

Potter looked at him for a moment, then at the birds. He quietly stepped toward the bushes. He turned to Draco and raised a finger to his lips, pointing at the birds.

Draco glared at him. Did he thing he didn't know enough to keep quiet?

Potter picked up a rock and threw it.

They had one grouse.

He picked up another stone and threw it. They had dinner for two.

Potter started to walk towards the fallen birds. Draco grabbed his arm and shook his head. Then he raised a finger to his lips and frowned, as Potter had.

Draco picked up a rock that filled his palm. "My turn." He mouthed, and resisted the urge to throw it at Potter when he crossed his arms and appeared to be holding a laugh.

Draco heaved a rock at another grouse.

"You hit it." Potter said in surprise.

He dusted his hands off and swaggered past a group of hazel bushes. "Of course. You needn't sound so surprised."

"Nothing you do surprises me, Malfoy." He walked over to the birds and squatted down.

Draco stopped swaggering. Potter had just called him predictable.

"I pretended it was your head."

Potter looked up at him and laughed as if he had expected him to say exactly that.

"Mine's the biggest one." Draco added smugly, and pointed at the two smaller birds that he'd killed.

He didn't answer, but gathered up the birds.

"The puny ones are yours," the blonde goaded.

Potter stood, grabbed his arm and pulled him into the forest.

* * *

The night was black and moonless, but it wasn't silent. An owl hooted and insects chittered. However, Draco was quiet for the first time in hours. They'd travelled well into the depths of the forest. He let Potter pull him along until the boy-who-lived deemed it was safe enough for them to make camp. He had his broad back to him as he reached for more branches for the fire.

Draco watched him, conceding that he didn't seem to have the hot-blooded temper he had had in Hogwarts.

Oh, the blonde had tried everything he could to spark rage in him. But Potter ignored him.

He huddled deeper into his robes. So now Draco had decided not to say anything. Silence. _That ought to get him_, he thought.

He glanced covertly at Potter. Draco should have hated him, for he hated everything that he stood for, the "Light's" hypocrisy. _What difference did their side have with Death Eaters when in the end they wanted to get rid of the other side as well?_ He hated the way they dressed up rounding death eaters, not even caring for proof or motive, as a burden no one but them wanted and capable enough to carry-as if it was something people should be grateful about. Such hatred was a part of him, the one thing he'd clung to when it seemed there was no hope for him and his friends.

But he had trouble hating Potter. Draco couldn't look at him and see what they had gone through. He looked at him and he saw—oh, Merlin... He closed his eyes at the thought. He saw Potter as a man.

Draco refused to think of him as "handsome," but there were the strong lines of Potter's profile, his firm mouth, his strength, and the frustrating way he calmly reacted to almost everything he'd done to bait him.

Draco wanted to remember vengeance. What he remembered was Potter's kiss, his taste. He remembered him acting so silly and catching those apple pieces. He remembered wanting to laugh for the first time in so very long.

And he remembered Potter grabbing his wrists and pulling him into the carriage. Potter's hands on his back. How, when they fell, he had tried to protect him in some odd, gallant way.

A rival? Imagine that.

Draco needed to hate him. But he didn't.

He sat there, hungry, trying not to think about Potter as he roasted the birds, trying not to look at him and concentrating on everything he had endured on the run in the hope that he could dredge up some spark of fight against what he was feeling.

In the distance, a wolf howled. Draco pulled his robes tigher around him. A woods owl came out.

The fire crackled as Potter added wood. "You must be hungry."

"No. I'm not hungry." Then his cursed belly growled loudly.

Potter looked up at him while he turned the three grouse they had caught on a spit he'd made. "You're wrong, Malfoy. You are hungry. Your belly tells me so about every few minutes.

"I wasn't wrong." He said forgetting to be silent. He crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm never wrong."

"I suppose it wasn't your empty stomach calling just now?"

"Yes, it was. But I wasn't wrong." He added stubbornly. Potter looked at him until he admitted, "You were just right for a change." The Malfoy rule: Never admit you were wrong. "Don't worry yourself about me, Potter. Hunger is a normal state for someone being hunted by idiots and barbarians." He looked away from the meat, unable to watch it cook. He was so hungry he'd almost have eaten it raw.

Draco sat there, miserable because he had lost control of everything, even his belly. The rich smell of roasting finally got to him. "Aren't they cooked yet?"

Potter chuckled. "Almost."

"Remember the big one is mine."

There was long silence; then Potter asked, "I take it you're talking about the grouse?"

Draco should have seen that coming. "You are a sick man, Potter."

He shrugged. "If you want the big one, you can have it. Just ask."

Draco straightened and put his hand on his hips. "My stone hit the biggest grouse, and we both saw it. I want it understood. The bird in the middle is mine."

"Are we having another challenge, Malfoy?"

"I don't know what you mean. I was just pointing out which bird belongs to whom." He paused. "The birds are burning."

Potter looked down at the spit, where the two outer birds—his birds—were aflame. He swore and jerked the spit from the fire.

Draco held out his hand and asked sweetly, "May I have my bird, please?"

Potter narrowed his gaze and met his.

He pointed at the spit. "That nice plump one in the middle. The one that's not burned. That's mine."

Potter used Draco's dirk to pry of the charred bird. It crackled and the burned legs and wings crumbled to the ground. Draco almost felt sorry for him when he saw how he stared at it. Almost, but not quite. Potter should understand what hunger was.

"I'm waiting," Draco said brightly.

Potter stabbed the dirk into the plump bird, and the meaty juices ran out, sputtering as they dropped into the hot ashes. He slid the bird from the spit and held it up for Draco to take.

Draco plucked it off the dirk before Potter could do anything rash, like steal it for himself. He ripped off a leg and just stared at it for a moment because it looked as good at it smelled.

He tasted it, and closed his eyes. It was heaven. He chewed slowly, savouring the flavour. He licked his lips and sighed as he swallowed. He opened his eyes to find Potter staring at him with the look of a man starved. Draco quickly hugged the bird to his chest. "This is my bird, Potter."

"What bird?" Potter asked distractedly, still looking at Draco's mouth.

"_This_ bird!" Draco held it up in front of Potter's face.

Scowling, Potter viciously bit into one of the charred birds. His expression changed. He looked like someone who had just eaten a big lump of coal. He stopped chewing. It looked as if his eyes were tearing and Draco could have sworn that his jaw twitched.

"_Mmmm_." Draco took another plump mouthful and oohed and aahed over how perfect it was.

Potter crunched down on the blackened meat, then paused, blanching slightly before he chewed again very slowly.

"This is _sooo_ good."

Potter swallowed, hard, then grunted something about his being only a little well done.

"Mine's perfect." Draco leaned over and looked at Potter's bird. "Look. I believe there's a piece of meat right there." He paused and pointed toward the breast of Potter's bird. "A little one that's not too well done." He looked up at Potter. "See it?"

"It's fine," he growled and bit off another bite before tossing the carcass of his shoulder.

"So's mine." Draco bit into the meat with great relish, "_Hmm, hmm, hmm_."

Potter frowned at the second bird, then tossed it and the spit over his shoulder too.

The look he gave Draco said he knew exactly what he was doing and didn't like it one bit.

Just the kind of look that sparked him to say, "Delicious." He ducked his head to hide his grin. _Oh_, he thought, _Can't take it, Potter?_ He ignored the quiet sound of Potter's footsteps and finished his delicious meal, then turned and tossed the bones into the fire.

Draco turned back around and looked up—his third mistake. His second had been ignoring the footsteps. His first had been pushing Potter too far.

Potter towered above him. "So torment is your game, now is it, Malfoy?"

"Yes, Potter," he said, returning his look evenly.

Potter pulled Draco up with such speed that his vision blurred. Potter held the blond fast against him. "You're about to learn a new game, Malfoy."

* * *

Malfoy fell right into his trap and opened his mouth to speak.

Harry kissed him into silence. He struggled for barely a moment—less fight than he'd expected.

While he used his hand to firmly hold the back of the blond head, he filled Malfoy's mouth with his tongue.

The blonde stilled and almost instantly raised his fists, which barely reached above Harry's shoulders.

Then slowly he opened his hands, lowered his warm palms and slid them around Harry's neck. Malfoy held him the way Harry held him.

After a long passionate kiss, Malfoy pulled his mouth away from his and rested his head against Harry's chin. "What are you doing to me, Potter?"

Harry pulled at his robe. "Stripping you naked and having my vile way with you."

Malfoy shook his head. "No." But then his lips moved over Harry's softly. His tongue darted past his, kissing him back passionately.

Harry moved his other hand down Malfoy's back, over the soft roundness of his arse, and felt him arch his body agains Harry's; then the blond's hand slid down around his waist.

Malfoy moved with him, responded as he had to every challenge Harry gave him.

His lips never left Malfoy's mouth, the mouth that pushed his patience to the limits; now it pushed his passion beyond anything he'd known before.

His hands gripped Malfoy tighter, and Malfoy matched him, hip to hip, tongue to tongue, movement to movement.

Harry could feel Malfoy's need to hold his own sense of power in this, as he did in everything.

His hands moved lower, up and under Malfoy's robes, pulled down his pants, then skimmed the back of his legs and moved to touch the warm soft skin of Malfoy's inner thighs.

**CENSORED SCENE CUT**

When Harry came around, he was sure he was blind. He opened his eyes expecting blackness and instead he found a blinding brightness. He was surrounded with soft platinum hair wrapped around him, as Malfoy's warm legs and his warm soft body. Had he been blinded, it would have been worth it.

Harry took a long, slow breath. The air was filled with the musky scent of sex and the clean pine smell of the woods.

He watched silver eyes slowly change. Malfoy stared up at him and murmured, "No..."

If Malfoy was the only one he could ever make love to, he would die a happy man. Harry realized then with sharp clarity that he'd just lost the one battle he had thought he could win.

* * *

A/N: My God. It's been ages, hasn't it? I'd even had to reread the chapters to remember this story. I would just like to thank all the readers who have reached this chapter. Kudos to you guys! Hope I didn't disappoint *hides in a corner and keeps fingers crossed*

I cut the sex scene at the last minute because I don't think it's that good and it's likely to be a violation in fanfiction. It will not affect the story whether or not you do read it but, curiosity killed the cat and all; so if any of you guys want to read the uncensored version, tell me and I'll email it.

Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 7 UNCENSORED VERSION

A/N: Hi guys! Since there are a lot of requests for the uncensored version, I just decided to post it on the adultfaniction site instead of sending them to you one on one. I am so completely overwhelmed by the requests, I figured there'd only be a couple but the response has been great!

Let me know what you think of it.

Here's the link:

hp. adultfanfiction story .php?no= 600097232

And here's a sneak preview of the uncensored version because I can't post any new chapters in FF if it's just an A/N. *winkwink*

* * *

_His hands moved lower, up and under Malfoy's robes, pulled down his pants, then skimmed the back of his legs and moved to touch the warm soft skin of Malfoy's inner thighs._

_**Uncensored Version**_

The blonde gave a gasp at Harry's touch, a sound he wanted to hear again. Malfoy's skin was silky, like touching a rose petal. Harry stroked downward until he held the back of Malfoy's knees and pulled them up around his hips.

The former Slytherin moaned something against his mouth, half plea, half cry. Malfoy's hands tugged the back of Harry's clothes up; then he slid his palms inside Harry's trousers.

Holding him tightly, Harry sank to the ground with the smaller man beneath him. He broke the kiss for the first time and straddled Malfoy, running his fingers over the soft skin of his eyelids, down his jaw. "_M__alfoy_..."

**end of preview**


End file.
